


I Will Never Leave You

by QueenoftheBritons



Series: Arthur Knows [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e01-02 The Darkest Hour, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Darkest Hour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:00:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23813425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheBritons/pseuds/QueenoftheBritons
Summary: Arthur wakes up and finds that the veil has disappeared, leaving a devastated Merlin behind. He offers the best support he can, while dealing with his own feelings.
Relationships: Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin), Lancelot & Percival (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Arthur Knows [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781749
Comments: 13
Kudos: 327





	I Will Never Leave You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I'm back again with angst for this episode! This time it's from Arthur's POV, to try something new out.
> 
> Please enjoy, and if you do if you could leave a kudos? Maybe even a comment? ;) 
> 
> And for those reading my WIP I WILL have something soon for you, don't worry! 
> 
> Stay safe, everyone :)

Arthur blinked, sitting up and staring around, confused. For a moment, he forgot why or where he was, and he shifted on the ground, eyes catching his servant. Merlin stood still, but the next second, Arthur watched as he sagged to the floor in some sort of shock, his eyes staring coldly, deeply, in front of him. The prince couldn’t help but follow his gaze, and despite its disappearance, he remembered the veil, his purpose for being there. Now there was more confusion, as he recalled the information, as he remembered leaving Camelot for good, to sacrifice himself. Yet, here he was, very much alive. His eyes scanned over himself, checking every limb, just for good measure, and yes, he was there.

“What…” he fumbled, his voice slightly hoarse as he turned once again to Merlin. He sat there, silent, and Arthur’s words caught in his throat. _What happened?_ He wanted to ask, but found himself unable to say anything, to speak, as Merlin sat oblivious to his struggle.

Turning his head once again to the blank space the veil had been, he tried to piece it together, but all he remembered was having the wind knocked out of him as he attempted to give himself for Camelot.

A grunt behind him, then, aroused his attention, and he turned quickly. It was Gwaine, coming round, too, and another piece of Arthur’s memory slotted into place. The knight had lunged in a foolish attack, never being one for patience, and got himself tossed easily aside.

The prince jumped up then, instantly, almost falling as his body had not fully woken, not ready for the action. He realised it, though, that there was someone missing, someone unaccounted for. Having a better view now standing, his eyes scanned his surroundings, taking take after take, but never catching the sight of his missing knight. Dropping his eyes to Merlin, then, who had not made any indication of noticing Arthur’s movements, he blinked in shock. His head swivelled immediately to the blank space, the painfully blank space, and the weight of the realisation made him stumble where he stood, and he held a hand out, but there was nothing to hold on to. He caught himself, barely, holding the hilt of his sword just for something firm, and a weak breath escaped him, eyes wide, astounded, baffled.

He could hear Gwaine sitting up, standing, asking what has happened. His voice was concerned, wondering, as he directed the question to the prince. Arthur could hardly find the words before, and now, with this weight, he said nothing. He heard Gwaine ask Merlin next, in the silence, but neither listened to the knight, stood stock still in despair.

The other knights came rushing in a few moments later, finding the scene Gwaine was stuck in. By now, the other knight must have noticed their absent friend, too, and Arthur heard him shuffle over to the others. He heard whispers, confused whispers, but he could not process the words said. It was hard to ignore, though, Percival’s pained gasp. The giant knight, the least outspoken of them all, made a terrible noise, and Arthur remembered that he had joined him with Lancelot. It was only because of Lancelot that Percival was here, one of Arthur’s most loyal knights. A second wave hit him, somehow with even more weight than the first, but he did not move. He would have to, though. They needed him, their leader, to show them the same support they would offer each other. As he focused now on their sounds, pulling himself back to the world, he heard them already offering kind words to Percival. He closed his eyes, slowly, softly, and took a breath.

* * *

Gwaine had gone to help Merlin up, Arthur too unsure of himself, of his servant, of whether he could aid the man. Instead, he chose to focus on his knights for now, discussing with them what must have happened. However, when he heard the protests from Merlin, and Gwaine trying his best to help, he knew he had to step in. Once again, he took a breath, bracing himself. Patting Leon on the back sombrely, he and his oldest knight shared a look of knowing, both already having fought enough to be able to deal with this sort of thing. Or, at least, pretend to, as they battled with their emotions. Leon tilted his head, indicating he could support the others, that Arthur should go. Arthur nodded, his hand once again patting his friend, before he silently went over to his servant.

Gwaine was kneeling on the floor beside Merlin, who was muttering, still staring coldly into the space in front of him. Arthur cleared his throat, and Gwaine looked up without his usual irritation towards the prince, instead nodding in understanding. Groaning as he pushed himself up, Gwaine then helped Arthur convince their friend to stand, at least, but then the knight left them. Arthur offered his thanks silently, noticing the pained gaze Gwaine shot to the empty space, before pulling it away before he, too, found himself sucked in. His eyes fell on Merlin, and Arthur found himself, not for the first time, wondering about their friendship. He knew already that Gwaine’s loyalties lay to Merlin, not him, but, even before this, he did not begrudge the man. He was irritating, but Merlin needed a good friend. Even more so, now.

“We can’t go,” Merlin whispered, eyes boring into the floor timidly. It was strange, to see such shyness in this man, who never cowered when he threw insults at his prince. At any other time, Arthur would have said something, maybe he would have joked about it. Staring at him now, though, any thought of a joke was pitiful and misplaced, and his heart sunk. Merlin was not a knight, and Lancelot had been a dear friend to him; Arthur swallowed hard, knowing what he had to do.

“Merlin,” he sighed, inching closer him.

“We have to stay,” the servant said, adamant, begging.

“We can’t stay,”

“But, he- he might, he might come back.” Merlin reasoned, eyes lifting slightly in desperation as he continued to plead, “we can’t leave.”

“Merlin,” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arms, digging his fingers in, only to ground Merlin rather than cause pain. He had to make him see that this was real, this was the truth. “Lancelot’s not coming back,”

Merlin looked up now, staring at him, “ _please_ ,”

Arthur wanted to turn away, because he could not face this. He could not face this emotion, something he had been taught to bury away. Merlin felt his emotions so easily, though, and it would be wrong for Arthur to look away now.

Giving his arms a slight, gentle tug, he stared his friend in the eyes, firmly, “Lancelot is not coming back, Merlin. Lancelot is _gone_.” It hurt to say it, having barely even processed all of the events himself, but he knew he had to. Merlin needed to know now, to be aware that this was real, that he could mourn, but not deny, the death.

He waited, hands still firmly in place, eyes still fixed on Merlin’s as they both searched for something, some reassurance that they both knew was not coming. Arthur heard the knights shuffling only a short distance away, no doubt catching the prince’s words and digesting them properly for the first time themselves. Merlin stared, mouth opening and closing as if to object. _Wishing_ to object, but finding no rebuttal. Arthur, damn it, found himself wishing he had found one, too, something to prove Lancelot had not gone through the veil. When there was nothing, Merlin’s eyes continued to plead, but Arthur felt the man’s body become heavier, as he let the weight of it all sink in.

“You saw?” Arthur whispered tentatively.

Merlin’s chin jutted out, his jaw clenching as his fists did the same, and he rolled his lips into a thin line. His eyes dropped quickly, and Arthur saw the teardrop fall from his eye as he blinked. Then, he nodded, and for a moment Arthur forgot he had asked the question. A fresh pang of guilt, of pain, hit his chest, and he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Merlin nodded again, sniffling, but pulled away from the prince. Arthur’s eyes fell to his hands, which dropped to his side, and then they rushed back up to his servant, now turning away from him, from the knights, as he walked through them. Arthur watched, his eyes trailing every step desperately, sorrowfully. The others watched, too, Gwaine clearly preparing himself to follow. Arthur held him back, shaking his head when the knight looked to him, knowing nobody could understand Merlin’s pain right now, and to claim they did to try and offer help might only cause more harm than good. The servant would not wander too far, he knew; Merlin always found his way back to him.

* * *

The ride back was silent, Arthur aware of the fact that they were riding with one less knight, but without the body. The death of a knight, of a brother, was painful enough. Without a body, there was only his armour, his possessions, to go to the flame. Watching them burn, those things that Lancelot had fought damn hard to obtain, felt like an incredible injustice, and Arthur could feel the guilt weighing him down.

Merlin rode at the back of the group, but the prince could feel the burning of his eyes on him, and he wondered what he was thinking. Would it have been easier, better, if Arthur had gone through the veil? That had been the plan, the original plan, but now he was returning, to report the death of the most noble knight he could know.

The sombre silence was like a blanket over the knights as they rode into Camelot, a blanket which then somehow spread over the whole castle, when they heard the news. On seeing Gwen, Elyan had offered to tell her, but Arthur knew he must. It was him Lancelot had sacrificed his life for, and it must be him to face this burden, however painful.

* * *

A few days had passed, but the melancholy had not yet left the castle, and Arthur knew it would be a while until it could. Lancelot was a kind, loyal person, to those of all ranks; many were trying to move on, but it was hard. His knights appeared on the surface better, but they all knew the sorrow still lay inside them, and would only be acknowledged when they were alone, or when they needed each other. They had taken to treating both Percival and Merlin with a little more tenderness, but so far, Merlin had refused their offers to go for a drink. Mostly Gwaine’s offers, but Arthur could not say it was a completely terrible idea. Honestly, he wished Merlin would take him up on it, hoping it might help.

The servant instead went back to his chores, but Arthur felt as though he had become a sort of shadow of his former self. Currently, the prince was reading over a document in his chambers, eyes scanning the words but barely registering their meaning. Instead, he was listening to the dragging of Merlin’s feet around the room, going in one direction, then another, warily, with no real objective. Occasionally, Merlin’s eyes would hover over to Arthur, not realising that the prince had noticed each time it had happened over the past few days, and then he would go back to whatever chore it was he was doing.

Arthur, his patience failing, his emotions finally overpowering him, cracked on the fifth stare of that morning, and he clenched his jaw as he almost shouted, “why do you keep looking at me like that?” It came out harsher than he had expected, and Merlin, God help him, jumped, surprised at one of the only interactions they had had since their return.

“Looking at you?” Merlin asked quietly, having hardly used his voice for several days, “like what?” His voice portrayed some innocence as he stared, confused.

Shaking his head, Arthur dropped the document he had been pretending to read and watched Merlin, “I don’t know,” he sighed. His eyes drooped, and he stared at the man sadly, “like… like you _blame me_ ,” the pain clear in his strained voice.

Merlin appeared taken aback for a moment, but the confusion slipped away as understanding dawned, and he offered no words in response.

“Sometimes,” the prince continued, “sometimes, I think you blame me. For not going through the veil, for not being the one to seal it.” His eyes dropped, then his head, unable to wait for Merlin’s confirmation, his blame, and he brushed a hand through his hair. “For allowing Lancelot to sacrifice himself.”

Arthur heard Merlin’s step back, his falter, and his eyes glanced up to catch him as he wondered if the man might fall over. He was clumsy at the best of times, but more recently, it seemed as if a light breeze might knock the man from his feet, and Arthur wondered how easy he would find it to force himself back up.

Merlin stared at him with incredibly sad eyes, and the tears began to brim easily in an instant, as if they had just been waiting for the opportunity.

“I, I would never… never,” the servant sighed, unable to finish, dropping whatever object he had been holding.

In that moment, he looked so weak, so frail, that Arthur moved quickly from his seat to stand beside him. Merlin’s weak protests fell on deaf ears as the prince steered him to the chair opposite his desk, settling him down carefully, as if he were something fragile. Arthur, rather than returning to his own chair, knelt down by the side, staring up at the pale, heartbroken man beside him. His hand rested perfectly atop of Merlin’s own, as his eyes bored into him, willing him to say something more.

When it was clear he could not, Arthur spoke quietly, fingers fumbling with Merlin’s, “I know it was you,” he blinked, “who stopped me. Stopped me from going through,”

Merlin’s body shook, and he let out a heart wrenching sob, covering his face with both hands. “If, if you knew that, then how can you… how can you ask me if I _blame you_?” He managed to get out, and Arthur could feel his heart breaking piece by piece, hating himself for causing this. Causing this reaction with a question he had not meant as an accusation, because in truth, he blamed himself, and he could understand why Merlin would, too.

Slowly, Arthur moved Merlin’s hands from his face, wiping away the tears gently with his thumb with a tenderness reserved only for Merlin. He was grateful when the move was received in kind, Merlin leaning into the warm touch, rather than pulling away in repulsion.

“I’m sorry,” the prince said, hoping Merlin knows that this is an apology for everything. Everything that has gone wrong, everything that he is to blame for.

Another sob broke through, and Merlin shook his head, “it’s _my_ fault! It’s all my fault,” he repeated, as he scrunched his eyes closed, trembling. Arthur’s eyes scanned him helplessly, waiting for an explanation. “I told Lancelot what I was planning to do, to take your place,” his breath hitched as he tried to explain, “I was too distracted… I didn’t notice when he took my place. He did it for _me,_ I know it.”

Arthur had had a similar inkling, too. He had been thinking about the night, replaying the events over and over. Merlin had told him easily that he would take his place, Arthur scoffing, disbelieving, now wishing he had taken his claim seriously and maybe had the knights try and stop him. Lancelot and Merlin had already spent a lot of the time together before reuniting with the others, and since Merlin had found it easy to confide in the knight, it was not unexpected he had told him of his plan to sacrifice himself.

Merlin cried, “and, a part of me, a part of me is _angry_ with him, Arthur. Really, _really_ angry. He did it so quietly, he didn’t even… he hadn’t even said goodbye, he just… left me. He _left me_.” Another painful sob wracked his body, and Arthur hated himself for the hint of jealousy he felt at Merlin’s connection with Lancelot, which had been so strong for so long.

Lancelot had known about Merlin’s magic long before Arthur could, and while it stung, the prince understood why it had had to be that way. Even when Merlin finally told him everything, when Arthur had accepted him, his relationship with Lancelot stayed the same.

Grabbing a hold of his hand, Arthur offered him some stability, “Merlin,” he spoke firmly, “Merlin, please, look at me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he did so, and Arthur did nothing to hide the tears brimming in his own eyes as he saw Merlin in such a state, ready to reveal his own fears and guilt in some sort of comfort. “When I woke up, and I saw you, I felt a huge _relief_. It meant that… that you hadn’t taken my place, that you were still going to be by my side. Your anger is natural, and had you done the same, I would have felt that same anger. You’re my only constant, Merlin.” He pressed a kiss to the man’s hand, “you shouldn’t blame yourself. Lancelot made that choice, as you had for me, and he would not want you to punish yourself like this.”

Thankfully, Merlin nodded, his shoulders sagging as if he had just been waiting to hear those words since this nightmare began. He cried easily, and Arthur wrapped his arm around his neck, bringing him forward so their foreheads met in a gesture of comfort, closeness.

“I’ve lost so many, Arthur,” he whispered, Arthur feeling his breath tickle against his cheek.

“I know,” the prince nuzzled his forehead closer, closing his eyes as he let his tears drop, showing only Merlin his true emotions.

“Everyone leaves me, everyone I care for,” Arthur could barely stand to hear the pain in him, from someone so young, someone who wasn’t even a knight, someone who should not have seen the horror he had.

“I never will,” his voice did not falter.

“You can’t know,” 

“I _swear_ to you, Merlin. I will _never_ leave you,” his hand that still held Merlin’s gave a reassuring pressure, and he felt the other man’s head nod as he let out a loud cry.

Arthur shifted then, sitting up straighter as he settled Merlin into a proper embrace, moving the man’s head over his shoulder as he cried. He felt every shake, every tremor of Merlin’s fragile frame as the tears came, and he refused to let go, to tell him to cry over no man, until he has mourned this great loss.


End file.
